


[lover lay down]

by ephemerall



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-22
Updated: 2012-05-22
Packaged: 2017-11-05 20:03:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemerall/pseuds/ephemerall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He hadn’t realized just how much damage he’d done until Sam backed away from a simple touch.  He’d pushed Sam away for what he thought were all the right reasons, but he was only realizing now that he’d maybe gone a step too far, pushed a little too hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	[lover lay down]

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU of What Is and What Should Never Be. Thanks, as always, to Angie for the beta work <3

He hadn’t realized just how much damage he’d done until Sam backed away from a simple touch.  He’d pushed Sam away for what he thought were all the right reasons, but he was only realizing now that he’d maybe gone a step too far, pushed a little too hard.  It left him wondering if any of this was fixable, if there was any way to even be Sam’s brother again, if nothing else.  He spends a sleepless night next to his girlfriend, a woman who could maybe-probably be his wife someday, thinking about his brother; he knows it’s messed up, knew it was messed up back then, but it doesn’t make any difference – he thinks of Sam all the time, and even a woman like Carmen, a woman that – _Jesus_ – he _loves_ isn’t greater than the force of his brother.  Sam has always been everything to him, no matter how hard he pushed it down and away, no matter how much it fucked them up or could fuck them up further; he needed to find a way to prove to Sam that he was sorry, that he regretted pushing him away, doing such awful things to make Sam hate him just so it would be easier for _Dean_ to let Sam go.  He doesn’t know how, he just knows he has to fix it.

 

Their mother’s house is frighteningly easy to break into; it’s almost as easy sneaking in as it was sneaking out when he was a teenager.  He’s standing in the living room wondering what to do next; he has no plan and Sam has no reason to listen to him if Dean says he wants to talk, not to mention Sam is probably sleeping, in bed, with his _fiancée_.  He’s given up getting drunk everyday because there is a Sam-shaped hole in him that needs filling, but he hasn’t given up drinking for courage, so he makes his way to the kitchen.  He bumps a few things on his way, knocks over a big, heavy knick-knack that surprisingly doesn’t break, and gets to the kitchen only slightly scathed.  He opens the refrigerator looking for a beer and isn’t surprised that there aren’t any; their mother hasn’t keep beer in the house since Dean started drinking more of it than water and their father died.  He pushes the fridge closed with a frustrated sigh, and is grateful that he inherited his mother’s quick reflexes; he puts his hands up and grabs the bat Sam is about to swing at him, and manages to take Sam down to the floor.

 

“Dean?” Sam asks incredulously.  “You scared the crap outta me!” Sam hisses.  He relinquishes the bat and lets Dean set it aside, and takes the hand that Dean offers him up.  “What are you doing here?”

 

“I…was getting a beer,” Dean answers, only half lying.

 

“Dean,” Sam’s tone is harsher, expectant, and Dean sighs.

 

“I don’t know, alright?  I needed… I needed to talk to you,” he says and scrubs a hand over his face.  This isn’t off to a good start and he doesn’t think it’s going to end well, either; at least, not for him.  Sam stares at him expectantly in the dim light the clock on the stove gives off.  “I miss you, Sam,” Dean says quietly, looking at the floor instead of his brother.  “I just… miss you.”

 

They are close enough to touch but Sam takes a step back and Dean looks up; Sam is shaking his head.  “Don’t,” he says, voice low and tight.  “Don’t do this.”

 

“Sam – “

 

“Don’t do this to me,” Sam begs.  “I’m _engaged_ , Dean.  I _love_ her!”

 

“You think I don’t love Carmen?  I do, Sam; I do.  That doesn’t make me love you any less,” Dean argues.  Sam is shaking his head, taking another step back, turning his back to Dean and putting both palms against the wall like it’s the only thing holding him up.

 

“Please,” Sam whispers.  “Don’t do this to me, Dean.” He turns around and Dean can see the shine of unshed tears in Sam’s eyes.  “You… you _ruined_ me.  Do you have any idea what a mess I was after you?  No, you don’t, because you were drunk, or high, or fucking hookers from sleazy bars and pretending like I didn’t exist!”

 

“Sam, I’m sorry!”

 

“And I’m just supposed to forgive you?  What you put me through … Dean, do you have _any_ idea how much you _hurt_ me?  I never knew pain like that existed,” Sam choked out.  “And…and out of nowhere you decide to just…clean up your act, treating me like a human being again, and what?  I’m just supposed to let you back in?”

 

“Yes,” Dean whispers.  “Sammy, please…”

 

“Stop it; stop calling me that!” Sam hisses.  “You _broke_ me.  I’m still putting pieces back together, and you want me to let you in again?  Why, Dean?  Why should I?”

 

“Because,” Dean says hoarsely.  “I’m your brother.”

 

Whatever Sam is about to say gets lost when the light flicks on; they both squint and reach to cover their eyes.  “Sam?” Jess’s voice is soft, groggy with sleep.

 

“Hey, Jess; sorry,” Sam says.  “I was just… talking with Dean.”

 

“You’re talking to your brother in the middle of the night?” She asks, looking between them skeptically.

 

“Yeah,” Sam sighs.  “Dean had too much to drink.” Dean is about to argue but the look Sam gives him makes him close his mouth again before any words escape.  Jess’s face softens, because she knows all too well about Dean’s drinking, and God knows what else Sam has told her.  “Jess, I’m sorry, but could you excuse us for a second?”  She nods, steps forward, and kisses Sam’s cheek before heading back the way she came, turning off the light as she goes.  Sam grabs him by the arm, more force behind it than necessary and drags Dean through the house and out the front door, closing it as quietly as possible behind them.

 

“I was wrong, Sam.” The words are out before he can stop them, and he’s glad because he means them.  “I was wrong, okay?  I can’t… life without you?  It sucks.  I don’t know how to tell you how sorry I am, and I don’t even know where to start making it up to you – “

 

“Stop,” Sam says, holding a hand up.  “What about Jess?  What about Carmen?  You said yourself that you love Carmen, and you know I love Jess – she’s the only person I’ve been able to love since you…since you-“ Sam takes a breath and pushes his hair off his forehead, closes his eyes for a moment before looking at Dean again.  “Do you even know why I fell in love with her, Dean?”  Dean shakes his head; he has no idea because he was too busy self-destructing, to busy pushing his baby brother to the other side of the continent to wake up and pay attention when Jess came around.  “She reminded me of you,” he says softly, looking down at his feet instead of Dean.  “She was cocky and self-sure, she made me laugh and … she made me feel like I … like I was the most important thing in the word to her – just like you used to.”

 

“Sam,” Dean whispers.  He feels like someone’s got a hand in his chest, squeezing everything to dust, filling his lungs so he can’t take a breath.  He needs Sam to know that he never stopped being the most important thing; as fucked up as everything is, Dean has done it all thinking it would be best for Sam and not seeing that the best thing he could have done for Sam would have been to let Sam decide for himself.

 

“She made me love her so much, and that … that isn’t going to just go away because you suddenly had an epiphany and want,” he waves a hand between them, “whatever it was back.  I can’t just let her go, Dean.”

 

“I don’t want you to,” Dean says.  “I don’t want to give up Carmen, either.  But we can – we can figure it out, Sam.  We can find a way for it to work.  I’m sorry for everything – every goddamn thing I did to you – and I wish I could take it all back, but I can’t.  I can’t, Sam, but at least … at least let me show you I _mean_ this, let me show how sorry I am.”

 

Sam doesn’t say anything for a long time, and Dean is convinced he isn’t going to.  He turns to leave and Sam grabs him by the wrist, his skin warm and clammy against Dean’s.  “I don’t know how to do this,” Sam says.  “I don’t know how we can –“ he chokes.  “I don’t know.”

 

Dean nods; he understands.  He really does.  He pries Sam’s hand from his wrist and takes Sam’s face in his hands, and it kills him to see the hurt and fear in Sam’s eyes.  He presses a soft, long kiss to Sam’s forehead and backs away.  “You tell me, Sam,” Dean says.  “You tell me when – _if_ – you can do this, and I’ll still be here.  I’m always going to be right here; I’m never going to hurt you again, do you understand?”  Sam nods but doesn’t speak.  Dean knows from experience that this is because Sam will cry if he opens his mouth, and he hates to cry in front of his brother, hates to be vulnerable _because_ of Dean.  “Call me when you’re ready to talk,” Dean says, and leaves Sam standing on their mother’s porch, hoping with every fucking piece of himself that Sam will call him tomorrow, that Sam will for some ungodly reason forgive him for all the shit Dean has put him through.  He isn’t expecting a thing, but he’s hopeful.

 

\--&\--

 

Sam doesn’t call him the next day, or the day after that. Instead, Dean comes home from work two days before Sam and Jess are set to head back to California to a note from Carmen saying she got called in for 2nd shift.  He nearly had a heart attack when he walked into the kitchen to find Sam sitting at the table.  “Jesus, Sam,” Dean rasps, hand to his chest as if would actually slow his racing heart.  “What the hell are you doing?”

 

Sam doesn’t answer him; he just sits there for a minute before he surges up and pushes Dean back into the counter.  The edge is hard, painful against his back.  “What the hell?” He asks angrily, Sam’s hands on his shoulders.  Sam doesn’t answer.  He slides his hands up Dean’s neck, holds Dean’s face in his hands and presses his forehead to Dean’s.

 

“Please,” Sam whispers, his breath warm against Dean’s lips.  “Please, Dean. Don’t break me this time – I won’t survive it, okay?”  Dean nods.

 

“I promise, Sammy,” he says, sliding his hands up into Sam’s hair and tugging him forward.  Sam’s mouth is warm and soft like he remembers, his lips softer than his chapped teen years, probably because of the chapstick Jess always wears – but he doesn’t care.  He’ll be a liar, he’ll be unfaithful, he’ll be whatever it takes to keep Sam this close.  Sam goes from soft and pliant, to attacking Dean’s mouth, and God, Dean would fuck him right there in his kitchen, but he knows they can’t jump too far, not yet.  He eases back, both of them breathing hard, wrestling for control.

 

“My semester is done at the end of January,” Sam says, lips brushing against Dean’s while he speaks.  “Take time off from work; we’ll go stay at my friend’s camp.  I’ll tell Jess we’re going fishing, trying to fix things.”  Dean nods, kisses Sam’s mouth again and never wants to stop.  Sam pulls back first this time.

 

“I’m so sorry,” Dean says softly.  “So sorry for what I put you through, Sammy.”

 

“Don’t,” Sam says, thumb brushing over Dean’s lips.  Dean kisses him again, softer and deeper, and Sam’s low moan vibrates through him, and Dean tries to remind himself that they shouldn’t move too fast.  Sam’s hands move to his belt and Dean can hardly breathe.

 

“Sammy,” Dean murmurs against his mouth.  “We shouldn’t –“

 

“Please,” Sam whispers.  “God, Dean, please.  Five years, I’ve been wanting you back – “

 

“Yeah,” Dean whispers.  “God, yes, Sam – anything.”

 

Most of their thinking isn’t with their upstairs brains, but Dean has enough sense and decency about him not to lead Sam to the bed he shares with Carmen.  Instead, there’s the spare room where they keep the desk and computer, a second-hand sofa with a pull-out bed.  He hated the thing because it took up space, but right that moment he couldn’t love it more.  “Tell me,” Dean whispered, walking Sam back to the room, biting the soft spot under his ear that used to make Sam groan, and doesn’t fail to do it now.  “Tell me what you want, Sammy.”

 

“You,” Sam answers.  “Just you.”  And Jesus, that does things to Dean he can’t explain.

 

In the den he puts a hand to Sam’s chest, a signal to wait a moment, and pulls the sofa-bed out; clean white, fitted sheet crinkled a little from folding the bed up.  Dean reaches out and grabs Sam by his belt, dragging him forward and untucking his shirt once he’s up close.  Sam raises his arms to let Dean pull his shirt over his head and drop it to the floor, and Dean immediately reaches and pulls his own off.  It’s rushed and uncoordinated, both of them trying to fumble each other’s belts open, giving up unbuckling their own and rushing to get their clothes off.

 

Dean groans out loud when he meets Sam skin to skin, walking him back toward the fold-out queen size sofa bed.  “God, Sammy, tell me – fuck … tell me what you want.”

 

“Fuck me,” Sam whispers, mouth against Dean’s.  “Want you to fuck me.”

 

It’s like déjà-vu, so similar to years ago, when Sam asked him for this very same thing, and it hits Dean as hard as it did then.  Sam’s cock is hard and hot, a brand against his hip, and he reaches down and takes hold, strokes Sam slow from root to tip.  He kisses Sam again, leading him down onto the fold-out.  “God, Sammy,” Dean groans, letting his fingers trail lower, over Sam’s balls and just behind, pressing and making Sam arch.  He presses that same finger to Sam’s hole, dry and tight and Sam twitches, hungry for it just like he used to be.  Dean sucks two fingers into his own mouth, gathers as much saliva as he can and pushes into Sam with those two spit-drenched fingers.  Sam’s tight, almost too tight, and Dean’s dick jerks in response, Sam arching and moaning for Dean.  “Missed you so much,” Dean says and leans down to place wet, sucking kisses to the inside of Sam’s thigh.  “Missed this.”  Dean pushes his fingers deep, scissors and then curls them, seeking out Sam’s sweet spot; Sam doesn’t disappoint, keening and slapping his palm down on the mattress.  He spends minutes, hours, days – he doesn’t know how long – adding more spit, another finger, sliding his fingers in and out of Sam, twisting and curling, making Sam beg him and moan.  They don’t have condoms, they don’t have lube – they’ve got spit and skin, and goddamn it’s good.

 

Sam’s face scrunches as Dean starts his slow push in, cock head stretching Sam’s hole around him, knowing from the look on Sam’s face that it’s been a long, long time since anyone has been here – since Dean has been here.  Sam grabs Dean’s forearms and digs his fingers in; Dean pauses, waits for Sam’s hold to loosen, and slides in another inch – they do it like this until Dean’s hips are flush to Sam’s ass. Sam is breathing hard and so is Dean, happily suffocating in this feeling, in _them_.  Sam gives a small nod, and Dean starts moving – slow at first, long, deep thrusts that get Sam breathing hard, and when Sam’s cock is leaking against his belly Dean pulls one of Sam’s legs up, up over his shoulder.  The change in angle lets him in deeper and Sam cries out, a noise that is far from pain and pleasure isn’t enough to describe it.

 

He gets a hand around Sam’s dick and leans in close, bending Sam in a way he’s not flexible enough for and will leave him aching tomorrow so he can get at Sam’s mouth.  They kiss, heated and harsh, breathing each other’s air, tongues tangling and twisting.  Sam breaks away first, sucking in quick, harsh breaths.  “Dean…” he moans.  “Right … right there – fuck!”

 

Dean fucks into him hard, stroking Sam’s dick in perfect time with his thrusts, needing to feel Sam come apart, needing to feel Sam surrender to this like he did before – back before Dean went and ruined everything – needing Sam to feel this and let go of every hurtful thing Dean did.  And he does.  “Jesus,” Sam whispers.  “God, Dean – I love you,” he whispers in a rush of breath.  He sucks in a gasp, body locking up, locking down on Dean; he’s coming hard, like back then, come striping up his belly to his chest, over Dean’s hand and making his fist slick over Sam’s cock. Dean lets go of Sam’s dick as soon as it’s stopped spurting, hands planted by Sam’s shoulders; he presses his forehead down to Sam’s, sweat and skin sticking together.

 

“Oh god, Sammy,” Dean whispers, mouth open in a soundless scream while he drives his cock in deep and stills.  Sam’s hands tighten on his hips, pull him in as tight as possible, and Dean knows Sam’s feeling Dean’s dick pulsing in him.  Dean trembles, thrusts half-heartedly, the way slicker with his own come.

 

After a few moments Sam drops his leg back down to the mattress and kisses Dean; it’s soft and slow, full of everything, and he exhales shakily when Dean presses his thumbs to Sam’s hips and pulls out so slowly.  Sam is going to be sore, and Dean is sure it’s exactly what Sam wanted anyway.  “You okay?” Dean asks, pushing Sam’s hair off of his sweat-dampened forehead; Sam nods.

 

“Yeah,” he says softly and presses his lips to Dean’s once, twice.  “I’m good. I’m…really good.”

 

They dress slowly, lingering looks and touches, carefully put everything back exactly the way it was.  The room looks undisturbed when they’re done.  Sam looks at his watch and then back at Dean.  “I’m … I’m headed to dinner with Mom and Jess.  You can come with, if you want.”

 

Dean shakes his head and smiles.  “I’m good; I’m gonna clean up for Carmen, call down to the garage and see about some time off in January.  I hear it’s a good time to go fishing on the west coast.”

 

Sam smiles – and Jesus Christ, it’s fucking beautiful.


End file.
